


take the bitter with the sweet

by eryn_laegolas



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-26 03:10:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13226877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eryn_laegolas/pseuds/eryn_laegolas
Summary: “Why is it that every romance novel ever says, ‘He looked at her like she was the sun,’ when that literally makes no sense?” Poe demands. “When I look at the sun, I go all squinty-eyed. Squinty-eyed, Finn. How is that supposed to be romantic?”Ever so slowly, Finn looks up. And blinks.“Um.”In which Poe is a barista with a fondness for romance novels and Finn is his favorite customer who works across the street. It’s not the epic star-crossed romance of the century, but all the time they spend pining after each other is a Shakespearean tragedy in and of itself.Or: yet another Coffee Shop AU.





	take the bitter with the sweet

It isn’t that Poe doesn’t love his job. Because he does. He really does. There may not be much excitement in saying _hi, how can I help you?_ a thousand times a day, but he isn’t complaining. The only drama he wants in his life are from Netflix shows and cheesy romance novels.

He’s content for the most part. Sure, there are always those inexplicably rude customers and, yeah, cleaning and closing up the shop is tedious as hell, but at least he gets up every morning to do something he doesn’t hate or find unbearably boring.

So what if working at the Resistance Cafe isn’t going to change the world or drastically shape the future or whatever. The owners are cool, the job pays rent, and he gets to work with his friends.

His best friends. Who he loves. Sometimes.

“I hate you,” Poe declares, when he’s standing next to Jess, done with his last order. It’s after lunch now and he’s _still_ getting numbers. He glares at her, glances around to make sure the customer is gone, then surreptitiously crumples the latest receipt.

“No, you don’t,” Jess singsongs. “You love me. You secretly think it’s an awesome idea, and you just won’t admit it because you think I’ll be an insufferably smug jackass for the rest of the month.”

“You  _are_ an insufferably smug jackass. All the time, Jess. All day, every day.”

“You wound me, Dameron.”

Poe rolls his eyes at her and goes over to take the next order. The newest customer is smiling coyly at him, and it’s a testament to Poe’s restraint that he doesn’t groan aloud.

This is all Jess’ fault, which is nothing new. Every awful, ill-advised thing that has ever happened in his life is always Jess’ fault. Most of the time, she denies this, but she’s too gleeful and proud of her creation to not take credit for it.

On the chalkboard intended for the barista’s name and the daily special, Jess has drawn a curly haired stick-figure and written:

 

**TODAY YOUR BARISTA IS:**

_1\. Hella fucking gay._

_2\. Desperately single._

**FOR YOUR DRINK TODAY  
** **I RECOMMEND:**

_You give me your number._

 

Han had seen it just after Jess wrote it and, amid Poe’s indignant sputtering, simply said, “This is a coffee shop, Dameron, not a dating service. Go find a boyfriend somewhere else.”

“Poe is on a quest to find his True Love,” Jess said, with that doe-eyed innocent expression that has never fooled anyone. “You can’t say no to True Love.”

Han snorted in amusement, which, being the universally acknowledged Han-speak for _sure, what the hell, do whatever you want_ , is the closest they have ever gotten to a verbal assent to Jess’ madcap plans.

Which is why the sign is still there, and why Poe feels contractually obligated to not remove it. Really.

Poe still glowers at it though, when the customer leaves a napkin on the counter. A napkin with his number. Ugh.

“It’s not gonna go away if you just keep staring at it, you know,” Karé says as she fills her coffee cup.

“It might. Maybe,” Poe says. “It’s going to burst into flames if I keep glaring at it, just you wait.”

Karé’s back is turned to Poe, but he’s certain she’s rolling her eyes when she says, “Why not just erase the sign? Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but it’s written in chalk.”  

Poe has noticed, thank you very much. But he’s fairly certain if he does try to remove it, contractual obligations aside, Jess will pounce on him until he’s face first on the shiny, well-polished floor. She’s done it before, after all, when Poe once tried to opt out of a frat party and Jess refused to go on her own.

“Because Poe doesn’t want to,” Jess says with a shit-eating grin before Poe can explain his very logical thought-out response. “He’s waiting for The Guy to come in and hoping he’ll get his number.”

Heaven help him, Poe _hears_ the capitalization. Sometimes he really does regret telling Jess about his tiny, insignificant, microscopic crush.

“The Guy has a name,” Poe grumbles. “And I can get his number if I wanted to. I don’t need that damn sign.”

“So why don’t you?”

“Because I don’t want to.”

He feels his ears getting hot and looks away. From the corner of his eye, he sees Jess smirking smugly.

“Liar,” she says. “That is such a lie. Worst liar ever. Look, Karé, he’s _blushing_.”

“Lies,” Poe says, willing his cheeks to cool.

Karé, whose brows have been furrowed, suddenly lights up with realization. “Wait, as in that cute guy who works across the street? The one who always comes in, like, twenty minutes before closing with the owner’s daughter? _That_ guy?”

The Guy in question works at First Order, the ridiculously expensive restaurant directly facing the cafe. Poe, who loves having money and a roof over his head, has never been inside before. The only people he knows who have are Karé and Snap, who once saved up enough money to go there for shits and giggles. They came in wearing cut off shorts and flipflops and scandalized the wealthy posh patrons, which is how Poe knows they’re meant to be.

Being just a street away from each other, there’s always been something of an unspoken competition between the Resistance and First Order. It has only gotten worse since Ben Solo, the son of the Resistance’s owners and Poe’s ex-coworker, dramatically took off his apron, loudly declared his resignation, and stormed out of the cafe and into the restaurant’s waiting arms, cape billowing behind him.

This, in turn, happened after Poe accidentally wrote Ben’s name from his teenaged emo phase on his coffee cup, which was filled with skim milk instead of regular because Poe accidentally wrote the wrong order, and accidentally proceeded to call him Kyle Ron, Kylie Rat, and other such butchering of said emo name when Kilo Rim sat in a corner like the lazy asshole he was, texting his pasty boyfriend for the umpteenth time while Poe worked.

All done accidentally, of course. Because Poe isn’t one for passive aggression. So what if those accidents just happened to coincide with Kayla Ring’s foul temper, unbearable rudeness, and refusal to cooperate and work, leaving Poe to face the lunch rush on his own? These things happen. 

“Her name’s Rey,” Poe tells Karé. “And she’s Leia’s niece. I think? Not sure.”

“I heard she’s Han’s daughter from an illegitimate secret love affair with another woman,” Jess says. Only she can say something as ridiculous as that with a straight face, and Poe is impressed despite himself.

“Huh. I thought they were dating though?” Karé says.

Poe feels his heart sink a little at that. “They probably are,” he says with what he hopes is nonchalance.

“We don’t know that,” Jess says, and he’s really glad she’s not looking at him pityingly, like he’s some sort of idiot hopelessly pining after a stranger in love with someone else. Which he _isn’t_ , screw you, Snap. “They can be just really close friends. And maybe if Poe here actually had the guts to talk to The Guy, we’ll know for sure if they’re actually together.”

Screw you too, Jess.

“Hey, I talk to him,” Poe says defensively. “I totally talk to him. We talk all the time. I mean, just the other day I learned his name.”

He pretends not to hear Karé’s strangled laugh.

“Only because he came in when there were other customers, and you actually had no choice but to ask for his name,” Jess says.

Karé is outright cackling now. He really hates his friends.

A man in a leather jacket enters the cafe, all skinny jeans and styled hair. Kind of cute, if Poe is being honest. The man’s gaze lingers on the sign for a bit and he smiles flirtatiously when he catches Poe staring. Poe tries not to grimace.

“Think of it this way,” Jess says as she prepares the order. “Now you’ve got no reason to moan about how the powers that be hate you and won’t let you find a date.”

Poe scowls at her then goes over to hand the customer his cappuccino. Leather Jacket smirks suggestively when he slides over his receipt, which Poe throws into the bin when he’s out of sight.

“I still hate you,” Poe says sourly.

“You say that now, but just wait when the revenue comes up and Leia gives you a raise.”

“And how exactly is that stupid sign going to get me a raise?”

“It gets people’s hopes up. Everyone knows most of our regulars come in here for your pretty face.”

“They come for the coffee, Jess.”

“Oh, no, my dear child,” she says sagely, like an old wizard about to impart life-changing wisdom. “Poor, clueless child. They come for your face.”

Poe opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, and turns rather helplessly to Karé.

She shrugs. “It’s true.”

“Not my coffee?” Poe asks. He feels almost offended, like a toddler who has just been told his crayon drawing isn’t a masterpiece that belongs on the fridge. “But I make good coffee.”

“The best,” Karé agrees. “But, also, your face.”

A group of girls is standing a few feet from the counter, not so furtively glancing at Poe and giggling.

“I’m going to kill you one day,” he tells Jess. He could do it too. He’s seen enough cop shows and _How to Get Away with Murder_ that he’s sixty five percent sure he can hide her body with none the wiser.

Jess responds to this ominous, very serious pronouncement with a grin. “But not today. Or the foreseeable future. You need me”

“That’s true too,” Karé says. “There’s literally no one else here who can bake for shit. So yeah, we need her.”

“I can learn to bake,” Poe insists weakly. “I totally could. You’re not special, Jess. We don’t need you.”

Jess tsks at him. “Poor, clueless child,” she repeats.

The girls are heading up the counter now, and Poe braces himself.

“I really, really hate you,” he tells her again. He means it too. Fifty percent means it.

 

* * *

 

True to form, The Guy shows up twenty minutes before closing time, on the dot. He’s still wearing the pristine white uniform of First Order, one arm laden with textbooks and a backpack slung on the other. The cafe is deserted and Poe, who has already begun the tedious process of cleaning, cuts off Finn’s usual sheepish apologies with a smile.

“Hey, buddy,” he says, hoping he doesn’t sound too excited to see Finn. He has to play it cool, of course. It’s not like their daily five to ten minute interaction is the highlight of his day.

“Hi, Poe,” Finn says with a smile, sounding earnest and heartfelt, and, god, why does Poe lie to himself like this.

“Should I get you the usual then?” Poe sets out to do just that when he notices Finn’s fingers twitching and tapping on the strap of his bag. Poe frowns. “Or maybe not the usual. You look like you’re one shot away from getting palpitations.”

Finn blinks at him, notices his twitching, and drops his hand. “Oh. This? No, no, I’m fine, really. I’m good, I’m okay. Er.” He shifts on his feet. “I’ll have the usual.”

Poe frowns some more at him, but damn if all that fidgeting isn’t ridiculously endearing. It’s not fair, it really isn’t. Awkward fidgeting is supposed to be _awkward_ , not endearing.

“So . . . no Rey today?” Poe says, trying to sound casual. He takes a moment to internally pat himself on the back for not flinching at the rhyme.

“Rey? Oh yeah — no, she’s — well.” Finn clears his throat. “Rey’s fine. Except for the, you know, projects and papers and . . . stuff.”

Poe nods and goes about making Finn’s drink. He's doing it slowly, determined to milk their time for all it’s worth, when he catches Finn in one of the mirrors putting his books on the counter, eyes on the sign.

Jess’ sign. Which Poe forgot to remove.

“That wasn’t my idea, by the way,” Poe says quickly. “That’s all Jess. She’s the desperately single gay trying to get laid.”

Finn’s lips twist into a grin. “She told me you would say that.”

“When?” Poe asks, feeling his insides shrivel in embarrassment.

“When you were out back. She was on her way out and let me in.”

Damn it, Jess.

“It really was her idea though,” Poe insists.

Finn laughs, and Poe supposes hearing that sound alone is worth the price of his embarrassment.

“Got any good ones?” Finn says, smiling shyly.

“No.” Wait, why did he say that?

“What, _really_?”

“Not a single one.” Someone stop him.

Finn shakes his head. “I refuse to believe that. A guy like you — there’s no way no one was interested.”

“A guy like me?” Poe echoes. “What do you mean by that? A guy like me?”

Finn looks suddenly startled and bewildered. “Well, I mean — you’re, you know, you. That is —”  he gestures wildly at Poe, not quite looking at him, “— your face. You have — well, your face.”

Poe isn’t sure what that’s supposed to mean, but he remembers, vaguely, Jess saying something similar just hours ago. Something about his face.

Finn still isn’t looking at him, fidgeting with the zippers of his bag. Poe almost asks him if he too came here for Poe’s face, before he bites his tongue and looks away. Thank god for impulse control.

There’s some seconds of silence and awkward shuffling, but Poe still can’t bring himself to work faster. He hates himself that much, apparently.

And then he hears it.

“What was that?” Poe asks, looking around the empty shop.

“What was what?”

“There was a sound — something — I don’t know. Didn’t you hear it?”

“Heard what?”

 _There_. There it was again. A sound, too soft and muffled for Poe to understand.

“Oh. That.” Finn says, looking oddly guilty. “That was me.”

“You?”

“Yeah. My — er — stomach. It’s been a long day, you see. Busy with school and work and all that.”

Poe’s brows furrow in concern. “Do you want me to get you a muffin or something? If you’re hungry, I could —”

_Meow._

A beat of silence follows, and Poe and Finn stare at each other in bewilderment.

“That didn’t sound like your stomach,” Poe says slowly.

Finn looks at his feet and, after a moment’s hesitation, opens his bag. Almost immediately, a tiny bundle of white and orange fur leaps out and lands on Finn’s books. “I, uh, may have accidentally adopted a cat. Sort of adopted.”

“It’s adorable,” Poe says, awed. Unable to help himself, he reaches out to pet the kitten gently. “Look at those eyes! And it’s so tiny! Hey there, little guy. Aren’t you an angel?” He laughs when the cat meows back. “Where did you find him?”

He looks up to find Finn staring at him, a soft expression on his face. “Her,” Finn corrects. “And, uh, I found her behind the restaurant while I was on my shift.”

“And you’ve been hiding her in your bag this whole time?”

“Pets aren’t allowed in the restaurant, but it’s been raining all day. And, well, she was shivering and I couldn’t just leave her in the gutter.”

“Pets aren’t allowed in here either.”

“I know. I’m sorry, I really am.” And Finn means it too, Poe can tell. The cat meows plaintively, as if to support Finn, and Poe swears his heart is melting. “Look, I don’t want to get you in trouble. I’ll just get my drink and I’ll be on my way —”

“No!” Poe blurts out, louder than he intended, and Finn jumps a little. “I mean — there’s no rush. It’s just the two of us here, anyway.”

As soon as he says it, Poe remembers why it’s just the two of them in the first place. A little regretfully, he steps back from the counter and washes his hands.

“Are you going to keep her?” Poe asks, busying himself with Finn’s order.

“Well, that’s the thing. I can’t keep pets in our apartment, so I’m not sure what I’m going to do with her. Rey wants to sneak her in, but —” he shakes his head, sighing, “— it’s not like I can keep her trapped in my room forever, you know?”

“Yeah,” Poe says stupidly. “I, um, didn’t know you and Rey were roommates.”

Stupid. So, so stupid.

Obviously _roommates_ is a euphemism. They’re dating — it’s official. Finn and Rey are probably one of those sickeningly sweet, unbelievably perfect couple, and they’re going to live happily ever after in a cute house with a white picket fence and this adorable cat, and Poe’s going to spend the rest of his life pining and —

“Oh yeah,” Finn says, gathering the kitten in his arms. His eyes are bright and shining and, honestly, Poe can’t even hate Rey at all, not when Finn looks like that at the mention of her. “Yeah, we found this little guy together actually. She named her too.”

“Oh?” Poe says feebly.

“Beatrice Button the Eighth. It’s terrible, I know.”

No, it isn’t. It isn’t terrible at all. It’s actually perfect, and Poe doesn’t stand a chance.

“Well, it’s a mouthful.”

Finn shrugs. “I wanted to call her Button, but Rey insisted on Beatrice. Apparently she looks like a Beatrice.”

“And the Eighth?”

Finn’s smile turns bashful, and Poe’s heart, honest to god, skips a beat. ”According to Rey’s, and I quote, unquestionable and accurate calculations, it took eight meows before I gave in to the cuteness.”

Poe smiles back before he can stop himself. “As adorable as that is, can I just call her BB-8? I don’t think I can keep saying Beatrice Button the Eighth in one breath.”

“BB-8, huh? I like it.”

When Poe finally sets down Finn’s drink, he does so with a flourish, and he hands Finn a paper bag full of his favorite cookies.

“But I didn’t order that,” Finn protests.

“It’s on the house. You look like you need it — your stomach’s been sounding suspiciously cat-like. Better get that checked, buddy.”

Finn beams, his whole face alight, and wow. He has no idea, does he? The effect he has, how Poe is already half in love with him, never mind the fact he’s only learned Finn’s name two days ago.

Poe forces himself to turn away, shakes his head as if to snap awake, and looks down at the newly christened BB-8. “You really don’t know what you’re gonna do with her? Because I can take her.”

Finn gapes at him. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious,” Poe says. “My apartment doesn’t have rules against pets and I’m sure my roommate won’t mind.”

Well, he’s kind of sure, at least. Snap spends more time over at Karé’s, anyway. There’s a good chance he won’t even notice their latest roommate.

“Poe, you don’t have to. I — I don’t want to be a bother —”

“You’re never a bother, Finn. I mean it — I want to keep her. And, look, you can visit her all the time. I can text you my address and —”

“You’re serious. Oh my god, you’re actually serious.” Finn grins as he gently transfers BB-8 to the counter. “Thank you! Thank you so much for this. I can’t even begin to — wow, you’re the best, Poe. Here —”

He takes a Sharpie from his bag and hastily scrawls a few numbers on the back of his receipt.

“Looks like we just found you a new home, BB-8,” he says, petting the kitten between her ears. He looks up, smiling warmly. “Poe’s going to take good care of you, and I can’t thank him enough.”

Being on the receiving on of that look is enough for Poe, but then Finn insists on helping him clean up, so eager and sincere that Poe can’t bring himself to say no.

When Finn finally leaves, Poe wonders at the look in Finn’s eyes, at the way the shop seems dimmer with him gone, at the strange warmth that seems to have settled in Poe’s chest. It’s only when BB-8 meows, the sounds so tiny it was practically an adorable squeak, that Poe remembers where he is, and that his arm is still raised, and oh, he owns a cat now apparently.

Poe looks down at the receipt at BB-8’s feet and takes it with a tentative hand, with the sort of care that surely no small slip of recyclable wood pulp deserves. He blinks disbelievingly at the numbers, stares at the chalkboard with Jess’ handwriting, then stares at Finn’s number again.

 _Finn’s_ number.

Oh. Wow. Shit.

Okay, Dameron. Breathe. Just breathe.

He must look like an idiot right now — laughing and smiling and blushing, trying and failing to stifle all three. Jess would say so, if she were here. Would still say so, if she ever finds out, before loudly proclaiming that she has performed a miracle, that it’s her handiwork that has gotten him to this point, that she deserves praise and worship for such an act of God, and just being an all-around insufferable ass about it all.

God, he loves his friends. Sometimes.

 

* * *

 

As far as first meetings go, it’s not the meet cute that makes the stuff of romcoms.

It happens twenty minutes before closing time, when the cafe is empty save for Poe, who has yet again drawn the short straw and has to close up the shop. He’s almost done cleaning, but he’s still standing by the counter, too caught up in reading to actually leave.

He’s happily absorbed in one of his favorite scenes when the bell above the door rings. With the vigor of someone about to get caught committing a crime, Poe hurriedly snaps his book shut, puts his hands behind his back, and looks up.

There is a man awkwardly standing by the glass doors. Stunned, Poe can only stare for a good second or two, like a deer caught in headlights. This is, in part, because customers rarely ever come in at this hour, and First Order employees never come in at all.

And if this outlier just happens to be blessed with good bone structure — well, Poe has been reading a romance novel. He can be forgiven for being taken aback by such things.

“The sign says I have twenty minutes,” the guy says, smiling shyly. Poe doesn’t think he’s ever heard those words uttered in a way that wasn’t rude before. “But if you’re really closed, I can leave.”

Something about the man’s unassuming stance is strangely charming. Whatever annoyance Poe felt at the intrusion is gone now, a blip so insignificant that he doubts it was ever there at all.

“No, no, it’s fine.” Poe smooths down his apron, giving his most dashing smile for good measure. “What can I get you?”

“Double-shot vanilla latte, please.”

“Not messing around, are you? Don’t you need to sleep?”

Cute Guy makes a frustrated face, eyebrows settling into a mild frown. “Not tonight. I have a paper that I need to finish.”

“Well then,” Poe says, “one double-shot vanilla latte coming up.”

He’s busy filling a coffee cup when he sees, to his abject mortification, that the guy has seen Poe’s book on the counter. The man is holding it in one hand, reading the blurb at the back.

A story about his nonexistent sister is on the tip of Poe’s tongue when the guy suddenly says, “I love these books.”

“Really?” Poe asks, staring incredulously.

The stranger's timid smile is doing something strange to Poe’s insides, making him feel warm and light. “Yeah, I know they’re cheesy but I grew up reading them.”

Poe grins. “Me too. I enjoyed all the books.”

“Even the prequels?”

“Oh definitely. I mean all the politics stuff went over my head when I was a kid, but Georgia Luke is a genius.”

They smile at each other for a long moment, and Poe looks away first, a little dazed.

“The prequels are my favorite,” Cute Guy says, like he’s confessing a long kept secret. “I actually read them first.”

Poe is aghast. “No, no way. That's _sacrilege_. It’s the originals then the prequels. That’s the natural order of things.”

“Sorry,” the guy says, still smiling. It suits him, that smile, and the longer Poe stares at it, the more giddy he becomes. “But I didn’t even know that it was a series when I found them. I just saw one of the books in the library and started reading.”

“Same thing, actually, but I did a little research before reading. Wanted to know what all the fuss was about.” Poe laughs, shaking his head. “I remember there was an actual fan club in my school too.” The guy ducks his head. “Oh no, don’t tell me.”

“Well, I was a bit of a nerd so. . . .”

“You're joking. You?” Poe doesn’t mean to glance down at the man’s arms but. Well.

Poe clears his throat, turning back to the latte.

“Here you go,” he says at last as the guy puts the money on the counter. “One double-shot vanilla latte. Careful there, you’re hot.”

The guy blinks. “What?”

“It’s hot. The coffee. Your coffee is hot.”

Poe makes change quickly, feeling a blush start to spread across his face. Thankfully, Cute Guy is too busy peering at the display case for baked goods to notice.

“Are those cookies chewy?” he asks.

“Oh yeah, they’re the best. You should try them when they’re fresh out of the oven.”

“Can I have those to go too?”

“Sure, buddy,” Poe says. He had been intending to save those cookies for himself, but he thinks he can make the sacrifice for a fellow fanboy.

The man’s smile widens, and Poe is suddenly aware of how the lights overhead are doing very flattering things to his face.

“Thanks, Poe,” he says, glancing at Poe’s name-tag.

“Dameron, Poe Dameron.” Poe says, setting the paper bag of cookies on the counter. A little too late, he realizes he’s just introduced himself like fucking James Bond. It’s not the smoothest introduction he’s made, but he shoulders on. “And you’re —” he glances at the man’s name-tag, “FN-2187?”

The guy grimaces. “Yeah, that’s what Phasma calls us. My boss. Turns out it’s easier to memorize number designations than actual names.”

“That’s. . . .”

“Weird?

“Terrible. Heartbreaking, really.”

“It pays the bills,” the guy says, shrugging.

“So, FN-2187 . . . does the FN actually stand for something? Are they your initials? You look like an FN.”

He looks genuinely puzzled at that. “What do you mean?”

“You know, like J.K. Rowling. Except you’re FN — like, I don’t know, Franklin Newberry or whatever.”

“Franklin Newberry?” He laughs. “Okay, you can call me that, if you want. Nice to meet you, Poe.”

“You too,” Poe says, surprised to find that he means it as much as he does. “Good luck with that paper of yours, Franklin.”


End file.
